


Learning to Breathe

by WeCouldPretend



Series: Breathing Again [2]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Romans | Arthurian Romances - Chrétien de Troyes
Genre: Arthur can cook now, Birthday, Cei's got a wicked sense of humor, Everyone worked very hard to be emotionally competent, F/M, Finals Week, Fix It, Fluff, Found Family, Hacker Mordred, It's Mordred's birthday and this is a PRESENT, M/M, Multi, Reincarnation AU, Slice of Life, Teasing, but it's just actual family, stripper Mordred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCouldPretend/pseuds/WeCouldPretend
Summary: How does one cope with finding long lost parents? What do birthdays look during finals week? More importantly, how has Mordred survived this long without seeing Galahad? Stick around and find out. Things have changed a lot in the years since Galahad met Mordred at that strip club. It's not Galahad's birthday this time, it's Mordred's. CAN BE READ AS A STAND-ALONE, IS BETTER WITH CHAPTER ONE!
Relationships: Arthur/Lancelot/Elaine of Corbenic, Bedivere/Kay (Arthurian), Galahad/Mordred (Arthurian)
Series: Breathing Again [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726528
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Learning to Breathe

_ Happy Birthday! We’ll be by later with a cake! _

The text from Galahad made Mordred’s phone buzz caustically on his desk. He jolted, snapping out of the reverie that coding always left him in. This project was the last final of his year, and while it was much more comforting to be doing this at his desk here, at home, with decent computer systems and a much comfier chair, it did lead to getting completely absorbed in his work. 

Coding, much like magic, spun through his fingers almost without thought, the strings of zeros and ones weaving themselves around the screen like Guinevere’s knitting used to in ages past. But now, the text message shook himself out of his reverie. Birthday. His birthday. How could he forget about that. He shook himself again and leaned back in his chair, willing the code to stop spinning behind his lids. 

A quick consultation of his watch confirmed that he’d been sitting here for almost four hours straight. Too long. His wrists hurt and his back was in no better shape, even with the nice chair and better keyboard. A lot had happened since Galahad’s birthday, four years ago, and the lovely office space around him was almost the largest of those changes. The other… Well…

“Mal! Mordred! You should come down, I made dinner! And your uncles are going to be here in a few minutes!” The voice that echoed up from the bottom of the stairwell at the end of the hallway was almost more familiar to Mordred than his own. In some lifetimes, it had been his only salvation. In some, it had killed him. Now, it was probably downstairs making him pierogies for dinner. 

“On my way!” He called, kicking his chair back from the desk and grabbing his phone in the same motion. Birthday. What an absurd notion. He’d lived most of his life without birthdays, and now was hardly the time to be stopping to celebrate. Finals took precedence, they always had. Or, at least, that's what he told himself. 

_ I forgot, actually. Who's coming with? _

Mordred shot back, texting Galahad as he walked out of his office. He then quickly pocketed the device and tripped his way down the stairs. His father was there, in the kitchen, on the other side of the living room. Golden-haired and wearing an apron in front of the stove, and looking for all the world like an average suburban stay-at-home father, King Arthur was making dinner. 

“Hey Dad.” Mordred plopped himself at the kitchen island. A cold pitcher of lemonade was busy sweating in front of him, complete with a stack of their metal pint glasses next to it. He quickly poured himself a glass and drank, suddenly aware of how thirsty he’d been. It rushed through him, healing the way water always had. A flash of life. 

“Hey kiddo! Cei said he’d be here any minute with Bedivere, so I figured you’d like the heads up. You didn’t need to come down right away. Do you want the first round of food?” Arthur asked, turning around with a plate of the polish potato pockets in hand. It was good, simple food, and he’d thrown sausage and spinach in it for protein. Easy on the stomach, and just about the only thing he’d eat when absorbed with finals. “How goes it?” 

“Not bad, almost done” Mordred hummed through a mouth full of food. 

“Glad to hear it. Anything I can do to help?” 

“Nothing besides making yourself scarce for the night.”

“That’s been arranged.” Arthur resolutely looked back down at the food in the pan and not meeting his child’s eyes as he spoke. “You’ll be careful?”

“Dad, I was a stripper. I literally sold my body for money before you showed up. I think I can handle the person I’ve married three times, and have been banging for four years. Plus, it’s not like he can knock me up.” Mordred laughed, drowning his latest pirogi bite in lemonade. Arthur just made a noncommittal noise and cast a distinctly parental glance over his shoulder. It was something that overall, Mordred was grateful for it, even if he pretended that he wasn’t. All of this was new. Well, not entirely new. New to this life.

Mordred’s life had changed irrevocably the day he’d gotten the call. It had been Galahad, in the middle of his senior English class. Galahad never called. So when the phone rang, he picked up and walked out of class despite the teacher’s obvious distaste for him. The old bat had deserved it. But Galahad, crying on the phone, certainly classified as a better use of his time. Of course, he’d cried shortly thereafter as well, when Arthur had met him and Galahad at the little cafe that was three blocks down from his high school. 

Arthur… well… this Arthur at least, was everything Mordred had dreamed of. He’d swept in on his white horse, well, actually it had been a red convertible. Regardless, he’d swept in and held him close and apologized for everything that had happened. Everything in the first lifetime and everything after, even the stuff he never needed to apologize for. He’d held him like he was something precious and worthy, something worth saving. He promised, up and down that it wouldn’t be like Poland again. Never again. Not this time. 

Somewhere in the midst of all of it, Galahad had shepherded them to this house. Arthur’s house. The one that looked like it was built for a big family. Lonely for a bachelor. Turns out, in this lifetime, Arthur was one of the top lawyers in the city. Living here, in this quiet place, with this too-big house was the most understated thing Arthur could possibly do with that money. The rest of it, well, as Arthur so eloquently put it, well, it hadn’t been easy to find Mordred. Even in the same city, it hadn’t been easy. What wasn’t going towards locating the rest of his family, Arthur was putting towards scholarships for kids who otherwise would have been going into the army to get money for school. 

Mordred, after about three weeks of coming around to get to know Arthur, had taken him up on coming to live with him. And had quit his job shortly thereafter. Not that Arthur had minded that Mordred was a stripper, he’d simply asked if Mordred would have liked to put more energy towards other things. Like college applications. He’d also taken it in stride when Mordred laughed in his face at the prospect of higher education. 

Arthur hadn’t laughed. But he had taken a look at Mordred’s grades and his GPA and told him that he was proud of him, even if he didn’t go to college. Mordred had laughed some more at that, bordering on hysterical. It had turned hysterical when Arthur handed him a brochure to the top uni in the area, but Mordred still found the forms online and filled them out. He was shaking so hard that when he showed up at his dad’s house three hours later, the lawyer had been concerned that Mordred was having a seizure, or had hypothermia.

To the former King’s credit, they’d both done a lot of growing together. A lot of late nights together, working through things, of late-night drinking, mutual nightmares, and happy reunions with other family members. It had taken hard work and screaming, and no shortage of tears, but they were slowly learning how to be a family again. Just the two of them in this house, but within a year they’d found Cei and Bedivere, who in this lifetime were an event planner and, ironically, a fire marshal. 

Lancelot had come shortly thereafter, sweeping in with his usual fashion. He’d showed up on their doorstep in the pouring rain, drenched. Galahad showed up an hour later in a blaze of righteous indignation. Lancelot had apologized at great length for abandoning him, and for abandoning his mother, even if it hadn’t been in this lifetime. 

Galahad, naturally, hadn’t spoken to any of them for weeks before he’d grudgingly allowed Lancelot to apologize again. Elaine had been more accepting, even though she’d screamed at him for three hours straight. But Lancelot had still taken Galahad to his first day of college with her, had helped him unpacked, had held her hand as she’d cried in the car afterward. They’d gotten married with Arthur’s blessing a year later.

Mordred had gotten the story of it from his own father, who had happily had the pair over at his place after they’d dropped Galahad off. Mordred had gone to college a week earlier, with Galahad and Arthur to help move him into his own dorm. That hadn’t lasted long. Mordred was notorious for not playing well with others and had moved back into his space in Arthur’s home before the first semester was up. 

“Let me worry? Just a little bit?” Arthur asked quietly, pulling Mordred out of his musing as he turned off the stove and wiped his hands off. 

“Dad, you took my finals week off just to worry over me while I work.” Mordred grumped, smiling around the chunk of food he’d shoved in his mouth. It had been the last on the plate. 

“I took the week off to make sure the only kid I’ve found in this lifetime doesn’t kill himself with lack of food or sleep. Sue me if I think it’s a worthy cause.” Arthur bantered back. He smiled, familiar as the sun and twice as bright. 

“I know better than to do that. You’d flatten me instantly in the courts.” Mordred shot back, shoving his empty plate away from him to pour and then down another glass of lemonade. His phone buzzed again. An insistent staccato. 

_ All three of us, dad’s picking us up in a few. You’d better be done with that coding when I get home. Half an hour. I have another surprise for tonight too, if you can be patient. _

“Holy fucking shit.” Mordred read, scrambling out of his chair as he read the message. 

“What?” Arthur looked up, startled, and reached for a kitchen knife out of sheer habit of lifetimes of combat. 

“N-nothing! Nothing at all! I’ll- I’ve got to finish. Work. I have to finish my work. Tell Cei and Bedivere I’ll be down when I’m done.” Mordred called, scrambling out of the kitchen and back upstairs as fast as possible. 

Arthur stared after him, unwilling to ask and not wanting to pry. Mordred’s business was his own, and Arthur knew better than to push. He’d spent too long building that trust to break it now. For now, he covered down the rest of the food and sat down to eat. 

Cei and Bedivere waltzed in ten minutes later, Cei not bothering to knock. He never had been one for formalities. Just toed off his shoes and waltzed into the kitchen carrying two brightly wrapped boxes. He walked in to find Arthur there, pensively chewing on the food he’d just finished making. 

“So, where’s the little shit?” Cei asked, pouring himself a glass of the lemonade as Bedivere grabbed a pair of plates and a helping of food.

“Upstairs, working. It’s finals you know.” Arthur shrugged, clearly still lost in thought. 

“Yes, and he’s going to work himself into an early grave. On his birthday no less!” Cei joked, dry humor managing to crack through Arthur’s pondering. 

“Like you’re one to talk, love, I think you’ve done that at least twice.” Bedivere’s chagrined remark snapping Arthur a little closer to the surface. Cei merely elbowed his husband in the ribs and dug into the food with gusto. Bedivere pretended to look offended before tucking one of his twists back into the tie that held the rest of his hair back.

“Well Art, your cooking has certainly improved over last life. Nothing’s burned this time.” Cei’s ruthless teasing was a familiar welcome. 

“I’m not cooking over the world’s tiniest fire in the Arden with two dozen Nazi’s on my tail this time.” Arthur shot back with gusto, making Cei crow with laughter. “So what’s in the boxes?”

“Fancy new drone, pair of boxing gloves.” Bedivere shrugged, enjoying the smile that Arthur threw his way. It really was good to see him happy. “Figured he’d be able to do absolutely horrible things with one of them and maybe make some remake some friends with the other.” 

“Certainly one way of putting it.” Arthur laughed, pouring more lemonade into Cei’s glass. His brother merely raised a fork in thanks and took another sip. “I’m just sad that Percival and Tristan couldn’t join us. But with Tristan on the opposite coast, and Percival doing his study abroad, I didn’t really have time to get them here.” 

“I know Gawain’ sour about missing too, and I don’t envy him the mess he’s cleaning up right now,” Cei added, shuddering at whatever logistical nightmare Gawain must have been embroiled in this time. 

The sound of another car in the driveway surprised nobody. What was significantly more surprising was the way the younger Pendragon came skidding down the stairs when the occupants of the car knocked on the door. It was a blur of motion as Mordred raced to the doorway and slammed into the person on the doorstep as it opened. 

Galahad caught him with practiced ease, stumbling half a step backward to absorb the shock as Mordred wrapped himself around his boyfriend with practiced ease. 

“Hello there, my dragon tamer. Have you finished all your finals?” Galahad laughed, holding Mordred close as he wrapped his legs around Galahad’s waist. Mordred nodded frantically into Galahad’s shoulder as the young Du Lac carried him back inside the house. Elaine and Lancelot came in after them, Elaine stepping out of her flats as Lancelot knelt to untie his boots. 

“Three weeks is too long, Gallie, I thought I was going to die.” Mordred wailed dramatically as the former grail knight gently set him on the floor to peel off his own shoes and jacket. “It was awful, I missed you so much.” 

“Mal, you forgot the date. Forty minutes ago you had no idea I was on my way.” Galahad laughed, kissing each of Mordred’s cheeks, and his forehead before pecking him on the lips. 

“Longest forty minutes of my life,” Mordred whined, hugging Galahad tightly. Looking over his shoulder, he quickly smiled at Elaine and Lancelot, waving at his future in-laws. “Hi Baba, hi Maman. How was the drive?” 

“It was just fine dear, thank you for asking. Happy birthday!” Elaine smiled, tugging Mordred out of Galahad’s arms to give him a hug of her own. Mordred held her close, savoring the feeling of a mother’s hug. They hadn’t found Guinevere yet, and until they did, the general motherly duties that Elaine and Guinevere shared fell solely on the former Lady Du Lac. Two moms were better than one, but one mom was better than whatever the fuck he’d had before. Now that he had three whole parental units who gave a shit about him, he hardly knew what to do with himself. 

“This makes, what, twenty-one trips around the sun for you?” Lancelot grinned, shuffling around his wife to stand in the living room instead of the foyer. The dark knight was just as at home in Arthur’s living room as he was in his own, the familiar space seeming to take a weight off of his shoulders, and put a little more glow in his tawny face. 

“Just about, yeah. I can legally drink in America. What a joy.” Mordred grinned, waiving them all into the kitchen. Arthur lit up when they walked in, waving hello to Galahad as Elaine quickly pulled him into a hug. He returned it, kissing the top of her head and holding her close before stretching around her to press another kiss to Lancelot’s cheekbone. 

“Gods Arthur, you’ve made enough food to feed an entire army! I shouldn’t have brought anything!” Elaine laughed, looking at the massive covered pan on the now-cooling stovetop. Lancelot put the casserole carrier on the counter next to the pan and unzipped it. He pulled out a good-sized pyrex and pried the lid off, filling the room with the smell of teriyaki. 

“I know I’ve had two helpings of whatever mashed potato thing Arthur made, but I want some of that!” Bedivere immediately moved to get up, only to have the plate in front of him snatched by Elaine. It was quickly returned, heaped with a helping of whatever it was that she’d made. He immediately dug into it with gusto, attempting to fend off Cei’s fork with little success until Elaine filled his plate as well. 

The other dish in the carrier, as it turned out, contained a messy looking but no-doubt divine cake that Lancelot had thrown together. The lettering on the chocolate frosting was purple, and spelled out ‘Happy Birthday Mordred’. Arthur cheerfully pulled out packets of white and purple swirled candles, counting out twenty one of them and helping Elaine stick them into the cake before lighting them. It was nice, the singing, the ice cream and cake, the presents that followed. Elaine took dozens of pictures of everyone and everything, despite Lance’s vain insistence that he looked awful. 

With his finals over, and his family around him and safe, Mordred finally relaxed. Piled into the living room, and tangled together in a single armchair, the tension finally leaked out of Mordred’s body. He listened to Cei’s stories about his latest bridezilla, and for a split second, it was almost like it was in the beginning. The seneschal bitching about the castle gossip with King poking fun at him from across the study. The Champion traded his stories with the Marshall. Sure, they were short several siblings, and a whole bunch of cousins, and an entire Queen. But that would come. They would be here. Maybe not next birthday, maybe not the one after, but they would filter in. They would be a family again. For the first time in lifetimes, Mordred was hopeful. 

“Alright, I think that our birthday boy is looking like he’s ready for bed.” Elaine laughed, watching Mordred droop onto Galahad’s shoulder for the third time in as many minutes. It earned her a round of laughter from the rest of the room, who all turned to watch Mordred grumpily snuggle closer Galahad. As if that would help. It only served to prove her point. 

“We’ve got a drive across town anyway, so we should head out.” Bedivere hummed, clambering to his feet and swiftly pulling Cei to his. 

“And so do I, if you’ll still have me Lance.” Arthur murmured, following his brother to his feet. 

“You know I’d never turn my king down.” Lance smiled, lazy, and adoring in his comfort. Arthur merely raised an eyebrow and went to go fetch his bag from his room. He’d packed it earlier, creeping around the upper floor of the house so as not to disturb Mordred. Now, he pulled it off the top stair, where he’d stashed it and met Elaine and Lancelot at the door. 

Goodbyes were exchanged and hugs distributed. Elaine held them both tightly and told them to be smart. Mordred thought that was much better parenting than what Arthur had attempted, and informed him of it. It just made Cei laugh. Before long, Galahad and Mordred had shooed their family out the door and locked it behind them. They had the house all to their own. No parents, no uncles, no cousins, no siblings. 

“So, it's just you and I now. Still feeling tired?” Galahad asked, rounding on Mordred.

“Tired?” Mordred’s voice had changed. So had his posture. He had an edge to him now, something new and familiar, old and exciting. “Who said anything about being tired?” 

He traced his bottom lip with a finger, thoughtfully appraising his lover. It was an action that Galahad knew well. He’d dropped the facade that he’d used to rid the house of the rest of their family. This look was one of planning. One of absolute, total scheming. One that spelled nothing good for the subject. Or. Rather. Something fantastically good in this case. 

“I would, however, like to go upstairs. You did say that you had another surprise for me. I expect you to deliver.” Mordred purred, shoving one hand under Galahad’s soft tee-shirt and thumbing the top of his well-worn jeans. 

Galahad gave him a grin that was just on the edge of being predatory. He spun Mordred around with practice, shoving him against the door and pinning him there between his arms. “As my lord commands.”

Galahad kissed him within an inch of his life, pushing one leg between Mordred’s as he held him there, trapped between himself and the door. They broke apart panting after a moment, Mordred eagerly pressing up into Galahad for more before he got a centimeter away. 

“There’s more than just this, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“Happy Fucking Birthday to me!” Mordred grinned grabbing Galahad by the front of his shirt and whipping around to drag him upstairs. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I'm @ Knight-of-the-Kitchen on tumblr, and you're welcome to come bother me there! I wrote this for May Day, and for fixing the mistakes of the past, and for want of good parenting. Happy Birthday Mordred!


End file.
